


Fictober 2020

by dillonmania



Category: DCU (Comics), The Flash (Comics)
Genre: Action/Adventure, Angst, Children, Comedy, Crimes & Criminals, Cute, F/M, Family Dynamics, Fictober, Fictober 2020, Flash Rogues, Gen, Humor, M/M, Poor role models, Role Models, Sad, The Rogues As Family (The Flash)
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-11-03
Updated: 2020-11-03
Packaged: 2021-03-07 17:22:22
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 11,217
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/26851387
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/dillonmania/pseuds/dillonmania
Summary: A collection of Rogue ficlets done for Fictober 2020.
Relationships: Albert Desmond & Alvin Desmond, Albert Desmond/Rita Desmond, George "Digger" Harkness & Owen Mercer, George "Digger" Harkness/Sam Scudder, James Jesse & Axel Walker, James Jesse & Hartley Rathaway, Leonard Snart & Mick Rory, Roscoe Dillon/Lisa Snart
Comments: 4
Kudos: 14





	Fictober 2020

**Author's Note:**

> The prompts can be found [here](https://fictober-event.tumblr.com/prompts20). Many thanks to the person who created the prompts and runs the Fictober blog!

**Day One: “No, come back!”**

The man bent down and kissed Owen’s forehead. The man had tears in his eyes and his voice was shaky, though he did his best to seem genially calm.

“Yer the best kid I’ve ever known, and yer mum an’ I love you so much. I want you to always remember that,” he said gently. “But this is for your own safety. If the Thawnes--” 

The breath caught in his throat and he had to take a deep inhalation to keep himself from sobbing. “It wouldn’t be safe if the Thawnes found out about you. Just like it wasn’t for yer brother.”

“But I want to stay with you and Mama!”

“And we want you with us forever an’ ever, but they’d find you eventually. Here in my time period, far away from President Thawne and his cult, you’ll be safe.” _We hope_ , he added in silent prayer.

“Can I at least stay with you?”

“No, Owen. Best that you stay far away from me and my trashfire life. They know about me and Mel, an’ I don’t want `em to put two and two together about you.” The dam suddenly burst and the tears began rolling down his cheek, which he absolutely didn’t want the boy to see; he was certain the memory of his father crying would traumatize Owen even further, and he would lose his resolve if this went on much longer.

Biting back tears, Digger rang the bell to summon the social worker waiting in the foyer, and the woman appeared promptly.

“My nephew’s ready to go with you now. Please take good care of him,” Digger said softly as he planted a final kiss on the top of Owen’s head.

“Of course, Mr. Neilson. There’s a family who’s already interested in him, and he’ll be in good hands. Come along, Owen.”

Digger immediately turned his back on them, as he couldn’t bear the sight of his son shepherded away by another person, but the boy was already trying to follow him.

“No, come back!” Owen cried out, but his father’s tears were now coming uncontrollably and Digger just couldn’t stay. The urge to snatch up Owen and fight the entire world which threatened him was becoming overpowering, but it would be a mistake that he was certain would end in his son’s death or worse. And there was always worse whenever the Thawnes were involved.

“I love you,” was all Digger could choke out, and he began walking away. His heart was broken.

***

**Day Three: “You did this?”**

“Hey Bivolo!”

Roy pinched his nose at the incessant pounding on his door and the bellowing of a Neanderthal who was lucky to string three words together that weren’t “just gimme beer”. There was a real downside to operating in Central City, and that was mainly in having to answer to the other eccentric goons who populated the area. He pulled on a paint-splattered shirt and yanked open the door with a distinctly irritated expression.

“May I help you?” Roy asked stonily. Captain Cold seemed equally unimpressed.

“Yeah. Mind telling me why you robbed that gallery when the Rogues had put first dibs on it?”

“Oh, come on! That’s my _entire_ M.O.! You’ve got a hundred banks to rob, so why not let me have the art galleries and charity galas?”

“Because the Rogues have been working here a lot longer than you, and this is our town. You’re just a newbie johnny-come-lately with a goofy gimmick.”

Roy’s lip trembled and it took enormous self-restraint to not snap back with snide comments about goofy gimmicks, since the Rogues had basically invented those things. Instead, he let out an exasperated huff of air and put on a strained smile for his uninvited guest.

“Please, can’t we discuss this inside like adults?”

Len rolled his eyes but acquiesced, following Roy into a living room filled with art and garish colour. The paintings were interesting to look at and had taken real skill to create, but he couldn’t understand why Roy would want to steal pictures with clashing colours which seemed so odd to his eyes.

“You got interesting tastes,” Len observed wryly, and Roy showed no sign of offence.

“Thank you. It’s been my life’s work, starting when I was six.”

Len stared at him. “You did this? All of it?”

And Roy seemed equally surprised in return. “Yeah, of course. You didn’t know?”

“Nope. We all thought you were some kind of weird art-loving nerd. Just an aficionado, like the way Mick loves heat. But this is pretty good stuff.”

Roy had to laugh at both the Rogues’ misunderstanding and the way Len had effortlessly used the word ‘aficionado’; maybe he wasn’t quite so much of a Neanderthal after all. And maybe both sides had judged each other unfairly and weren’t really as different as they’d wanted to believe. This time his grin at Len was genuine.

“I think we got off on the wrong foot from the beginning, and maybe it’s time we really did discuss matters like adults so we aren’t stepping on each other’s toes on the job…there’ll be less friction that way. What do you think? Can I get you a beer?”

Len smirked at him and relaxed his posture somewhat. “Now you’re singin’ my tune.”

***

**Day Five: “Unacceptable, try again”**

Roscoe sighed and pushed his homework away in frustration. He’d been struggling with it for two hours now, and the words and numbers seemed to blur together after a while. At any rate, he was sure a break would be permitted, so he pulled out two tops and began spinning them in tandem to watch how they danced dangerously close to one another and occasionally collided with messy results. Soon he’d forgotten all about the tiresome homework and was grinning as he played his favourite game.

“Roscoe!” came a sharp voice from the doorway, and the boy immediately swept the tops off the desk in alarm. But his father had already seen them, so the jig was up. “Your mother called you to dinner five minutes ago. You have one minute to wash up and sit down.”

“Yes sir,” he gulped, and dashed past his father to fulfill his obligations in time. He’d gone without dinner enough nights to know it wasn’t an empty threat. But tonight he made it and was sitting up straight in his chair by the time his parents joined him at the table and began cutting up the quiche for their meal.

“You need to pay attention. I’d called you twice,” his mother admonished as she put a heaping portion on his plate, and he nodded.

“Yeah, I’m sorry -- I mean, _yes_ , I’m sorry,” he replied and quickly corrected himself, hoping no one had noticed his informal speech. Unfortunately, his parents’ disapproving looks made it clear that they had, and he internally chided himself for sloppiness.

“He was playing again while he was supposed to be doing homework,” his father noted with obvious irritation, and his mother rolled her eyes. Roscoe said nothing, knowing that any explanation or perceived excuse would just annoy them further.

The food had been portioned out and the boy looked at it hungrily, not having eaten since lunch. But he knew what was coming next.

“So: recite the multiplication tables of seven through twelve,” his father told him, and he began without hesitation.

“Seven times one is seven. Seven times two is fourteen. Seven times three is twenty-one,” Roscoe recited from memory, and continued rattling through them while his parents watched expectantly. This continued until he reached the nines, and added “nine times eight is seventy-one.”

“Wrong. It’s seventy-two,” his father interrupted, and the child went red with embarrassment. “Seventy- _two_ , you empty-headed boy. It’s like you can’t even be bothered to make an effort.”

“You’re right, I’m sorry,” Roscoe replied, flustered. His face was still burning hot and he stared down at the plate in front of him, ashamed to meet either parent’s gaze.

“Unacceptable. Try again, and do it right this time,” his father told him brusquely, though his mother frowned.

“The food’s getting cold,” she pointed out with some annoyance.

His father picked up his fork with some muttering and the adults began to eat, although Roscoe was motioned to begin again and understood that he wasn’t allowed to eat until he’d successfully finished. He began reciting the tables as his parents watched him and ate, and put all his concentration into getting everything right. This time there were no interruptions signifying an error, and when he’d finished his father nodded at him approvingly.

“See? You can do it properly when you actually apply yourself, so make sure you work harder. I’ll look over your homework when it’s finished to make sure you did it right.”

Roscoe smiled, for it was high praise indeed, or at least as high as he ever received. Suddenly all the embarrassment and frustration of the evening had been forgotten, since this was the kind of satisfaction in a job well done he’d learned to live for. With a proud grin, he picked up his fork and began to eat.

***

**Day Seven: “Yes I did, what about it?”**

It had been a long day for Andrew Reyes, one of Central City’s two public defenders. He’d met a couple of clients that day with assault charges, one arrested unlawfully for cannabis possession, and now he had some oddball who was accused of trying to blow up the planet. Obviously that was going to be a bullshit charge, but it’d be a headache and a half trying to prove it in court and he’d heard from another lawyer that the guy supposedly wore some sort of costume. He just felt drained by it all.

Reyes found his client chained to the table at the police station, but he was dressed in prison greys and seemed quite serene. 

“Hello, Mr. Dillon. I’m Counsellor Reyes, and I’ve been assigned to your case,” he began with a confident smile. “I’ve read the details of the police report, and it’s so fantastical that we should be able to get it thrown out as nonsense when you come to trial….honestly, an atomic bomb shaped like a giant grenade. Who would believe it?”

Roscoe beamed proudly at him. “Oh no, I did it. All of it.”

“You….did it,” Reyes replied slowly, digesting what he’d just heard. “You tried to blow up half the world with an atomic bomb shaped like a grenade.”

“Yes I did, what about it?”

Reyes wasn’t sure if this was an elaborate prank being played on him by the cops or what, but he did not find it at all funny. “How could you possibly have done this? It was a fake bomb just meant to scare people, right?”

At this, Roscoe wrinkled his nose and seemed offended. “Of course not. I built it myself, and it did detonate once it was sent into space. Ask the Flash about it.”

“Why…why would you do such a thing?”

“I _told_ the world to make me its ruler, and every head of state ignored my demand. So obviously I had to make good on my threat or they wouldn’t take me seriously. I mean, you understand.”

Reyes rubbed his temples. “No, not really. So your plan was to blow up half the planet even though you were still on it?”

“I was on the other side, of course,” Roscoe said with a scornful look, and Reyes almost laughed in spite of himself.

“So let me get this straight: you built an atomic bomb yourself, you shaped it like a huge grenade and made it spin, and you figured that such a gigantic nuke wouldn’t affect the other side of the Earth?”

“I also put the Flash inside it!” Roscoe added brightly, and his lawyer had heard enough.

“Okay, Mr. Dillon, I think I know how we’ll be pleading your case,” Reyes said as he got to his feet with a weary expression. “Don’t worry, I’m certain there won’t be a conviction.”

“Admittedly, lying isn’t one of my strengths,” Roscoe noted with some regret, but Reyes carefully eyed his chains and patted him gently on the shoulder.

“I actually hope you’ll tell the whole truth on the stand. I’ll talk to you again when we have our first day in court,” he said kindly. He picked up his briefcase and headed out for a stiff drink or two.

“Mmm. Strange,” Roscoe mumbled as he left.

***

**Day Eight: “I’m not doing that again”**  


Based on [this scene](https://imgur.com/a/AKXbXuX). 

“This is the most ridiculous plan you’ve ever had.”

“Pfft, you missed the meeting we had last month.”

“Would you idiots just shut up! This is gonna work, and you’ll all thank me when we’re rolling in dough.”

With some effort, James finished buttoning his costume and climbed to his feet. “So how do I look? I can barely see anything.”

“Ahahaha, you look like a bargain shop Mark!” Hartley chortled. “Just slightly more sadsack than the real thing.”

“Hey, eff off,” Mark grumbled from across the room as he pulled up his vinyl orange pants. “I look better than any of you losers even on my worst day, and it’s not my fault the city cheaps out on this stuff.”

“Can we just get through this?” Len frowned. “It’s stupid, but it’s only an hour of work for a decent payoff, and no one will ever know it was us.”

“I really should’ve pissed before putting this on,” Mark complained, but he too stepped forward as a somewhat off-brand Mirror Master.

“That swishing snowpants sound every time you move, tho,” James snickered. Not that anyone else’s outfit was much better. However, they soon heard the bell which signified it was time for everyone to assemble, so they hurried out to join the others in the parade.

***

“This is so degrading!” Mark groused for perhaps the third time, but the Rogues had mostly stopped paying attention to him ten minutes ago. James just laughed and did a backflip, which was extremely challenging while wearing a giant mask.

“You just need to enjoy the moment! We can be out in public and have fun, and no one’s the wiser!” The young acrobat tossed candy to the crowd while Hartley and Len did their best to chase the unsuspecting guy in the Flash costume. But nobody was moving particularly quickly and they banged into each other (and occasionally into the floats and marching bands), and everyone aside from Mark was having a good time.

“Weather Wizard! Weather Wizard! Make it rain!” a child cheered excitedly, and Mark recoiled.

“I beg your pardon…” he began in an offended tone, but James ran in front of him and threw confetti to simulate rainfall as the child giggled. Mark then remembered he was supposed to be Mirror Master, and half-heartedly brandished a plastic mirror at the kid and his siblings. One made a face at him.

“Mirror Master totally sucks,” the preteen girl said scornfully, and James was incredibly relieved that Sam hadn’t joined them on this mission.

“Got you, Flash!” Hartley-as-Heat-Wave declared as he playfully grabbed the Flash’s arm and the crowd alternately clapped and booed.

“Time for some payback against the speedster,” Len-as-Captain-Boomerang announced with a little too much intensity, and James quickly pulled him away before things got heated.

“This is a _fun_ parade, remember?” James said pointedly, and Len shrugged.

“Just aiming for authenticity.”

But all good things eventually come to a finish, and the Flash Parade was no different. They reached the end of the planned route, and the wild exhilaration of the crowds and parade participants meant that the Rogues had ample opportunity to steal the prize money intended for the best float. The four men stripped off their bulky costumes and ran away into the afternoon, though James kept his Weather Wizard mascot head to tease Mark for the next ten years.

“I’m not doing that again,” Len grumbled as they enjoyed some post-theft beers. “All I wanted to do was hit the Flash once. He wouldn’t even feel it through that stupid giant head!”

“Y’know what? That was fun,” Mark said thoughtfully, surprising even himself. “But next time I’m wearing the Weather Wizard costume so I can actually do weather effects for the kids. It’ll give them a huge kick to get some real rain showers.”

“Next year, then,” James declared, and even Len clinked beers with the others.

Hartley took an enjoyable swig and suddenly put down his bottle. “Hey, did we ever untie the guys whose costumes we stole?”

***

**Day Ten: “All I ever wanted”**

She took a bow and the entire audience cheered. The spotlight was focused on her, and the searing intensity of its glare only increased her pride. She blew a kiss to the crowd and spun away with a flourish only she had mastered, and skated to the off-stage area where she took a deep breath and wiped the moisture from her brow.

“Great performance, Lisa!” one of her fellow skaters enthused, tossing her a towel. She smiled modestly in thanks.

“Yeah, you really brought down the house!” a stagehand said as he passed her on the way to post-show cleanup. 

Still smiling, she headed back to her dressing room, where she found a bouquet of flowers from an unspecified admirer. Not her brother, but she made a mental note to return his call sometime that week, as he was undoubtedly looking for a loan again. _I’m more successful than he is_ , she thought to herself, and had to admit she took some pleasure from that. Len had been protective of her, but the female Snarts had always been the underdogs in the family, and their father considered the women to be insignificant. Of lesser worth, and unlikely to ever make anything of themselves. Lisa had long suspected that her brother might have inadvertently internalized that message at their father’s hands.

She took a quick shower and dressed in a glamourous outfit bought with her first paycheque from the headline gig at the Futura show. It was time for late night drinks with the co-workers she liked best, and she made sure to sign some autographs for excited fans on the way out of the arena. ‘Lisa Star’ had been an appropriate choice of stage name.

The nightclub was packed, and she found plenty of men and women to grind with on the dance floor and buy her a drink or two. She sat on one man’s lap -- she couldn’t recall his name afterwards -- and he hung on her every word, clearly very interested in everything about her. She didn’t know if he respected her, but he didn’t have the sneering disregard which radiated from so many of the guys back home, who called her “slut” and “trailer trash” even when they’d come from the trailer park themselves. 

She considered bringing the man home with her, but then remembered she had an early morning practice and didn’t want to be dealing with relationship drama as she guzzled coffee and put on her skates. So instead she took his name and number, which were soon lost due to a tipsy mishap with her phone, and headed home alone.

She closed the front door behind her with a smile. It had been a good day, made even better when she saw the fruit of her labours: a stylish apartment as well as beautiful clothes and jewellery, and it was all from her own hard work. She’d pulled herself out of an abusive home and their father’s malign influence without Len’s help, and she’d trained hard to become a star skater everyone admired. She’d earned the money to pay for all these possessions through her own sweat and grit, and done far better than anyone had ever expected of her. It was _her_ life, and all she’d ever wanted. And she was proud.

***

**Day Eleven: “I told you so”**

Hartley and Alvin watched James bounce through the air and turn handstands while whooping excitedly. This was pretty normal for him, except he was currently fifteen feet tall and repeatedly crashing into the ceiling as the other Rogues yelled and tried to stop him. It was going to be a long night.

“I told you so,” Hartley said in resignation. 

“Yeah, you did. But in my defence, I didn't think he would actually drink the potion.”

***

**Day Thirteen: “I missed this”**

Lisa yawned and stretched on the couch, and her companion grinned teasingly at her.

“Am I boring you, darling?” he asked in a put-upon tone, but she knew perfectly well he was just pulling her leg and she patted his white hair condescendingly.

“I’m just wondering when it’s time for your nap,” she poked back. “You know, on account of you being seventy-eight and all.”

“I’m not a day over sixty-seven,” Roscoe harrumphed, barely stifling his laughter, and she couldn’t help but join in. “But I will admit to going to bed shamefully early these days; it seems to be an old man thing. Go to bed at nine, wake up at four. Though that makes it very easy to sneak out of the house to visit a hot young blonde, so I am not complaining.”

Lisa pulled him close for a tight embrace, marvelling at the sound of a heartbeat which shouldn’t be there. “Ohhhhh, I missed this so much.”

He raised an eyebrow and put his one free arm around her. “Again, not complaining, but you missed what?”

“Just…hanging out and spending time together. I missed you, and I’m so glad to have you back.”

His expression softened and he smiled. “Even as an elderly man?”

“Definitely. I’m happy with whatever I can get…and I mean, you’re still pretty cute in a pinch-your-cheeks kinda way,” she said fondly.

“I’ll take it,” he chuckled, though his expression soon turned serious. “And you, Lisa. I thought I’d never be able to see you with living eyes again. I thought I’d never get to talk to you again or feel the sun on my skin…I do not think I can go back to that existence.”

“You won’t have to,” she replied fiercely, gripping him more tightly. “I won’t let it happen, and we’ll be together forever.”

He looked pensive. “I wish I could be so sure, but death has taught me that the best-laid plans often go awry.”

“Hey, stop moping,” she told him with that same intensity, and he knew better than to argue. “We’re gonna succeed and get you a great new body to live in, and nothing’s gonna go wrong. All right?”

“All right,” he said with a strained smile, still unsure. He took a deep breath. “I just wanted to say that I am very sorry you had to throw away everything you’d worked for because of my death. It means a lot to me that you did and I am honoured, but you had it all and lost it once you embarked on your revenge against the Flash. That wasn’t the life I wanted for you, and I wish it hadn’t happened.”

She frowned at him. “Sweetie, it was important to me and I wanted to do it. I was angry and full of grief, and didn’t mind burning down everything to get at Barry…it was my choice. Why are you so gloomy today?”

“I suppose I’m thinking about what it’s like to lose everything and concerned it will happen again if this plan fails. I lost my life, you, everything I owned and had worked for, and even now I am still legally dead. And then there was Hell.”

Lisa stared him down. “And who was responsible for that?”

“Barry Allen.”

“And what are we gonna do to him?”

“We are going to take his body for my own.”

“You’re damned right, and it’s going to work. You aren’t going to lose anything, least of all me, so stop worrying. Okay?”

He managed a half-hearted smile and pulled her close, resting his head against her shoulder. “Yes. Thank you, my love, I will remember that.”

“You’d better,” she murmured back with determination. “He’ll pay for what he did, and you’ll come out on top like you deserve. Like we both deserve.”

Roscoe still wasn’t sure he believed that, but it was all they could cling to and it was comforting to imagine it would come true. He inhaled her scent as he rested against her, and that also brought him comfort, as it reminded him that he was currently alive and with the person he loved most in the world. For the moment he was happy, and he closed his eyes to enjoy the serenity. “And then we will celebrate.”

***

**Day Fourteen: "You better leave now"**

Rita Desmond had been looking forward to a relaxing evening on the couch, but that all changed when she found Alvin sitting there, smiling.

“What on Earth are you doing here? Get out!” she ordered, and he cast a guilty grin at her.

“But I’m practically family! I’m Albert’s twin, you see, so I figured my dear brother would have room in his heart…and his house…for me.”

Rita’s jaw dropped. “Less like a brother and more like a stalker,” she retorted incredulously. “Please go.”

“Oh, it was just the one time,” Alvin scoffed. “Besides, I’ve got lots of talents my brother doesn’t have; for instance, all the cooking skills went to me while Albert could burn water. I can cook for you!”

Rita had to admit that’d be useful around the house, as Al was indeed hopeless at cooking and she was often busy at work. So she offered Alvin the opportunity to prove his skills and show himself to be anything other than the creepy little weirdo he’d always seemed to be.

Twenty minutes later, the house was full of smoke and Rita was trying to get some air inside while chasing Alvin out at the same time.

“You said you can cook!” she coughed as she swatted at him with a broom and he tried to dodge her blows.

“I assumed I could! I’m so good at chemistry, after all!” 

“Out!”

Alvin suddenly stopped in the kitchen doorway and looked sombre. “You see, here’s the thing. I already moved my stuff into the basement while you were out today.”

“Fine. We’ll move it back out tomorrow,” she replied with an angry sigh, resisting the urge to facepalm or whack him further with the broom.

“Funny story: I also used the Philosopher’s Stone to change the décor down there, and used my alchemy to open a portal to another dimension. You kind of, maybe, shouldn’t go down there? On account of the demons and all.”

Rita stared at him, and honestly wasn’t sure whether she believed him or not but was definitely tired of looking at his face. She fixed him with an intense glare, one that actually made him take a step backwards.

“Maybe Al never told you, but there’s a reason we’ve kept Dr Alchemy in line over the years,” she began ominously. “It’s because _I_ have an even greater power than the Stone, and he fears it.” Her hand began to glow with phosphorus, and she took a step towards Alvin with that same hard stare.

“Stay back!” he quaked, looking for an easy exit.

“It can push Dr Alchemy back into his hole so that Al takes over again, and if I wanted to be really rough on them, I could destroy Dr Alchemy forever. But that’d hurt Al, so I don’t. You, on the other hand…”

Alvin let out a distressed screech and ran for the front door, disappearing into the night with some yelling about getting his stuff back. Rita laughed and locked the door, casually extinguishing the phosphorus pellet from Al’s Mister Element collection.

“That was amazing, honey!” Al exclaimed from the corner, applauding. “He won’t be back anytime soon, I’m sure.”

“Thank you, thank you,” Rita said proudly, taking a few bows. “I think we should go dump his junk on the front lawn so he doesn’t find an excuse to come back inside…I’m sure it’s just a bunch of disgusting magazines with the pages stuck together.”

“Sure thing. I’ll go get started, since you did all heavy lifting with him,” Al nodded, and headed to the basement to clean up.

“Rita?” he called back a few minutes later. “You were right about the magazines, but I think we’re going to need some help.”

“I’ll call Barry…” she sighed, whose number they had on speed dial because it was so frequently used.

“Well, maybe call Wally too, and see if we can get Jay Garrick. And, uh, hopefully the Justice League as well..?”

***

**Day Fifteen: “Not interested, thank you”**

“Hey Tony!” a voice called behind him as he hurried home from school, and Tony Gambi’s heart sank. It was Brad Whalen again, and he always meant trouble. Tony quickened his pace, but the older boy soon caught up to him.

“`sup, kid?” Brad asked slyly, positioning himself to trap the other boy against the side of a building and preventing an easy escape.

“What do you want?” Tony demanded with all the defiance he could muster, although there was a noticeable quaver in his voice. 

“I got a dirty comic book for you to buy. It’s got boobs `n everything,” Brad said with that same sly grin, and Tony shuddered. Not that he wasn’t interested in adult comics, but his instincts told him that anything Brad was up to was bad news and probably came with a significant catch.

“Sorry, I’m not interested, thanks,” Tony said politely, but Brad grabbed his shirt collar menacingly and balled up his other fist as a very obvious threat.

“I want your money, crapsack. I’m not giving you a choice.”

And then the strangest thing suddenly happened: a dark cloud began forming over Brad’s head, and in moments it started to rain heavily on him and him alone.

“What the..?!” Brad exclaimed, and a tiny bolt of lightning snaked out of the cloud and struck his back. The lightning wasn’t enough to harm him, but he certainly felt it and let out a shriek. “What the hell?!”

“You’d better back off and leave Tony alone from now on,” Mark said coldly as he advanced on them, so Brad let go and took off running. Another small bolt chased him down the street and he yelped again as it found its target on his behind.

Tony laughed in disbelief as he watched the spectacle. “Thanks, Uncle Mark!” The two of them high-fived and the cloud dissipated into calm air.

“No problem, kiddo. I don’t think he’ll be bothering you again, but gimme a call if he ever shows his face. Just wait until he sees a mini-tornado coming right at him!”

“That’d be the best,” Tony grinned, although he then looked up curiously at his uncle. “So did you just happen to be around?”

Mark coughed nervously. “Yeah, I was. I have, uh, a hot date just down the street.”

“At three in the afternoon?” Tony asked with obvious skepticism, and Mark coughed again.

“Well uh I’ll level with you, Tony: your Uncle Paul asked me and the guys to keep an eye on you because he knows you’ve been having trouble at school. But we’re not supposed to tell you that, so will you take ten bucks to keep quiet about it?”

“Sure!” Tony exclaimed, eyes shining with excitement, and Mark gave him a twenty because he didn’t have any smaller bills. The boy eyed his prize delightedly and made plans to buy the biggest haul of candy any kid had ever seen, while Mark tagged along behind him because it was still his day for child protection duty.

“I knew you didn’t really have a date, Uncle Mark,” the boy said in a jovial manner as they walked to the store down the street, and Mark suddenly frowned.

“Wait, I think I resent that.”

***

**Day Seventeen: “Give me a minute or an hour”**

“What do we do with this thing?” Roscoe asked with a note of rising panic in his voice. “Why won’t it stop crying?”

“She, not it. But I got no idea,” Len replied. “Hey, kid. What’s the matter? Why are you crying? Where are your parents?”

The little girl continued crying without answering and Roscoe wrung his hands anxiously as he paced back and forth. “We can’t take her to the police.”

“That we agree on,” Len nodded. He pulled out his phone to call the other Rogues in the area, telling them vaguely that there was an emergency; he was fairly certain they’d ignore him if he told them it was a lost child. Then he sat down next to the kid while Roscoe continued pacing.

“What do you really expect the others to do? Belch in her face and terrify her further?” Roscoe asked skeptically, and Len had to admit that was a possibility. But maybe the group could come up with a solution if they all put their heads together.

“What’s the problem?” Sam called as he flew in with his solar jetpack. He landed on the ground and silently assessed the crying child. “Ah, I see. Not really an emergency, is it?”

“Nope, but what are we supposed to do?” Len asked. 

“Maybe give her a top to distract her,” Sam suggested, though Roscoe looked at him dourly.

“They are all explosive.”

Sam shrugged helplessly, all out of ideas.

“I _know_ you didn’t just call me to deal with a crying kid,” Mark announced from a hovering cloud, and Sam waved him in. With an air of obvious distaste, Mark stepped down with a flourish and simply looked annoyed about the entire situation.

“Who else is coming?” Sam asked, and Len checked his phone.

“Didn’t get any response from Mick or James, and they were the ones I was really hoping would show up. Digger responded though, so he should be here soon.”

Mark started laughing riotously. “Oh man, Digger will just make her cry more. I can’t wait.”

Digger soon flew in via boomerang, which he dropped from awkwardly and almost faceplanted on the sidewalk. Dusting himself off as best he could, he strolled over casually and then suddenly stopped when he saw the little girl.

“Whose kid is that?” he asked, eyes wide.

“We don’t know, because she won’t stop crying or talk to us,” Len told him. “We were hoping the bunch of us could come up with a solution to get her home safe.”

Digger wiped the trickle of blood from his nose and was suddenly all business. “Lemme handle this. Stand back, and gimme a minute or an hour, yeah?”

“Uh…sure,” Len said with confused suspicion, although the other Rogues were quite happy to put some distance between themselves and the crying child. They were all just hoping Digger wouldn’t throw up on her and make the problem worse.

“Hey, li’l one,” Digger said kindly as he sat down next to her on the curb. “Name’s Captain Boomerang, but you can call me Digger.”

The girl looked up at him but continued crying.

“Looks like yer havin’ a bad day. Want to tell me about it?”

She shook her head.

“I know what the problem is,” Digger said cheerfully. “Yer just upset because I’ve got this bonzer hat and you’ve got none! Well, here you go.” He took the jaunty cap from his head and placed it on the girl’s, and she giggled. “See, it’s too small for me and just perfect for you, so maybe you should keep it.”

She looked up at him again with a shy gaze that didn’t quite meet his eyes. “Thank you.”

“Yer welcome! Looks great on you!”

Her sobbing had stopped, though a few tears still trickled down her cheek. “I miss my mommy.”

He frowned and looked concerned. “Where is she?”

“Don’t know. I got lost.”

“Can you tell me yer name?”

“Mommy said not to tell that to strangers.”

Digger laughed in a friendly manner. “Yer mum has good advice and she’s quite right. Tell you what: why don’t we go to the fire station and they can help you get back to yer mum. Whaddya think?”

The girl looked at him solemnly and took his hand, and then she and Digger began walking to the nearest firehall as the other Rogues stared at them in shock. The others opted not to follow as they were concerned it would frighten the girl, and they watched as the duo walked out of sight.

Soon, Digger and the child reached the fire station and headed inside.

“`ey mate, this little nipper’s lost her mum,” Digger said to the first firefighter they saw. “Think you can get her back home?”

The man looked them both up and down and was startled to recognize Captain Boomerang, but he noticed that the girl seemed comfortable in his presence.

“Of course, sweetie,” the firefighter said quickly, keen to get her away from the supervillain, but she turned and smiled at her rescuer.

“Thank you, Digger. Can I really keep the hat?”

“Sure can,” Digger smiled, and waved. He was equally eager to get away from the firehall, as he was well aware that the fire department had close contacts with the police. “You take care now, and stick real close to yer mum.”

At that, he speed-walked out of the firehall and then sprinted his way back to the other Rogues.

“It’s done, she’s safe,” Digger told them casually, but every one of them still looked astonished.

“How did you…?” Sam asked, wide-eyed. “I mean, you…”

“It’s nothing, I just know how to talk to kids,” Digger said dismissively, but this was entirely at odds with the man they knew. He’d never told them about Owen and never intended to because he knew the other Rogues wouldn’t approve of his son’s mother, so it was best to keep it his own secret. Let them wonder.

“We should head back to the hideout,” Digger said in that same casual tone, as the others looked at each other with bewilderment. “I left some beers to come down here and they won’t drink themselves. Who wants to get absolutely pissed with me?”

***

**Day Nineteen: “I can’t do this anymore”**

Hartley sighed when his phone buzzed again, and he checked his text messages for the third time that hour.

_Hey Piper that meeting was yesterday_

_I called and you didn’t pick up????_

_the heist is tomorrow where are you!_

He put the phone down, with the messages going unanswered like the rest. The Rogues were beginning to exhaust him, and dealing with their business was the last thing he wanted right now. It wasn’t that he disliked them, just that they suddenly seemed very unimportant: he couldn’t stop staring at the newspaper headline commemorating the death of Barry Allen in the recent Crisis. The Crisis on its own made all the Rogues’ petty activities seem pointless in the grand scheme of things. Who _cared_ about robbing banks or accumulating money? Hartley sure didn’t, because such activities were beginning to remind him of his parents’ less-moral practices. Meanwhile, there were people left homeless by all the turmoil, and other good people were dead.

This time he put the phone away so it could no longer distract him, and began reading some political articles he’d found on the internet.

***

Three days later he quietly walked into the Rogues’ current hideout, dressed in civilian clothes, and everyone seemed exasperated to see him.

“Where the hell were you? We had to cancel the heist!” Len told him furiously, though Hartley shrugged.

“Baby-Flash probably took him to jail for a few days,” James said in his defence, loyal to his friend as always, but Hartley smiled sadly and shook his head.

“I can’t do this anymore, guys. I’m sorry.”

“What’s that supposed to mean?” Lisa asked, bored and looking aimless. James gazed worriedly at Hartley’s expression because he could see its seriousness and genuine sorrow.

“It means I’m quitting the Rogues and moving in another direction. A new path, and a new tune to follow.”

“How could you do this to us?” Len demanded. “We’re already down a man now that Scudder’s dead, and you’re leaving us in the lurch?! Mick already retired and Digger’s mostly stuck with Task Force X these days, and Lisa’s lost her drive since the Flash died. We _need_ you!”

“I’ve made up my mind,” Hartley said firmly. “You guys are still my family and I love you, but Mick has the right idea. Just imagine the good we could do if we turned our attention to helping people.”

Lisa rolled her eyes. “Uck, really? What’d anyone ever do for us? No one cared that our dad was beating Lenny and me, or we were going to school without shoes. No one cared that we were hungry.”

“And maybe we can change that!” Hartley insisted. “I want to make a better society, a more just one we can all be proud of. You guys can join me or not, but that’s what I’m going to do.”

“Have fun with that,” Mark said dismissively, giving Hartley a gentle push away with some wind. “Personally, I plan to rob the world blind.”

Hartley cast him a sympathetic look. “One day you’ll understand.”

He turned and began to walk out, though James caught up to him before he’d left the building.

“Hart! Are you sure about this?” James asked worriedly. “It’s a pretty extreme step and a big change for you. And why didn’t you talk to me about it earlier?”

“It’s not extreme, it’s _necessary_. People are going hungry and without a safe place to sleep, and I think that’s really important to fix. And I don’t know…I just started thinking about it recently. The Flash was a pain in the ass, but he was a good man, and if I die tomorrow I don’t want my legacy to be solely as a thief. I came from money, and now I want to use it to help people. I hope you understand, and I’d love it if you joined me.”

James thought about it for a moment, although he shook his head. “I do understand, but it’s not really my thing. I like excitement and living by my wits and entertaining people!…and, uh, also conning them. You do you, though. I think you’ll make a really good Robin Hood, Hart.”

Hartley smiled. “Thanks, James. See you around.” He walked out of the building alone, whistling a tune.

James watched his friend go, feeling like this was the end of an era and that it marked a turning point for the Rogues. Maybe it really was time for a fresh start, but done on his own terms. After all, he’d been wanting a chance to focus on his inventions without being chased by the police all the time, and he’d been thinking recently about going to Hollywood. There was no better place for a clever grifter who knew how to build things, and it would allow him to create his own legacy in his personal unique style. But he grinned to himself. Unlike Hartley, he’d just skip town and leave the others guessing.

***

**Day Twenty-One: “This, this makes it all worth it”**

“Shit, it’s the cops!”

The Rogues immediately scrambled into action, taking defensive positions around James and Hartley as the two of them fiddled with the recalcitrant lock on a safe.

“How soon?” Sam asked them, and James shook his head. He was frustrated, but utterly focused on the task and it kept him calm.

“At least three more minutes.”

“We’ll try to buy you the time,” Sam answered briskly as he aimed one of his mirror lasers at a police sharpshooter’s weapon. “Cold, we need an ice wall!”

Len nodded and created a defensive barrier around the group, although the Rogues were well aware that the police had heat guns based on Mick’s confiscated technology. The frozen wall was just meant to give them some breathing room while they devised an exit strategy.

“They’re early,” Roscoe observed, having estimated how long it’d take the police to arrive after the bank alarm.

“Just be glad the Flash ain’t here yet, mate,” Digger said tersely, preparing several razor-rangs for their imminent escape.

“Ah, there we go,” Sam announced in a composed tone as he noticed a portion of the wall beginning to melt under the onslaught of flame. “They’ll be through in less than a minute.”

“Then we’ve got to come out swinging,” Lisa frowned, and the others were in complete agreement.

“Protect the locksmiths, and we’ll roll out some shock and awe to overwhelm the cops. James, how’s it going?” Sam called over.

“Nearly there!”

Digger was suddenly knocked off his feet by a blast of concussive force, which broke down a large section of the ice wall and hit him like a battering ram. Sam immediately ran over and helped him up, while Roscoe stepped in front of Lisa to defend her and she darted past him with an annoyed look.

“Back off!” she shouted at the police, making a beeline for an officer’s face with her blade and laughing as the man fled. A top spun past her and exploded, while Len froze two more cops in place.

“Got it!” Hartley declared triumphantly, and the safe popped open with a loud click. He and James quickly scooped the gold, jewellery, and cash into a bag, while making sure to grab the various documents as well.

“We’ve got the payload! Clear out!” Sam ordered, and nobody had to be told twice. The bag of loot was tossed to Roscoe, who instantly spun out of the bank at high speed with the goods and knocked over a few cops along the way. He trusted that Lisa could make her own escape, and she skated through the air quickly behind him, while the others hurried out as best they could via their own methods. Sam used his mirror jetpack to carry Digger, as the other man was still woozy from the hit he’d taken, and Len lagged back at the rear because speed was very much not his forte. 

Roscoe arrived at the Rogues’ hideout with the haul and quickly secured it in their hiding place, as Sam had decided earlier that there was no point in losing the loot even if the slower members of the group were caught. He stood at the ready in case he’d been followed, but no police arrived, and soon Lisa had reached home base too.

“Amazing job, baby,” she congratulated him with a lingering kiss, and Sam made a face at them as he came in with Digger. The trio helped Digger to the couch and tended to his injuries, and soon James and Hartley arrived.

“Digger’s got a mild concussion, but he’ll be all right,” Sam told the others, and then Len came in panting from an awkward sprint through the back alleys of Central City.

“Cops nearly got me, but I lost `em,” Len wheezed, immediately staggering over to the fridge for two cheap beers. He guzzled them in a hurry as Roscoe looked on with obvious disapproval. “Is the loot secure?”

“Yes it is,” Sam said with pride, raising his own beer in celebration. “Ladies and gentlemen, good work on a successful job. You all performed well in the field.”

The mood in the room was jubilant, and things quickly turned into an impromptu party with beer and some takeout James had brought in the day before. They kept the noise level low since Digger was still recovering, but the group sat around the couch to keep him involved as they chatted and drank. And the usual hostilities were put on hold, as Roscoe and Len spoke amicably and without tension even when Lisa cuddled against her boyfriend.

Sam looked at the others around him, all happy and animated and very much a family. He knew things weren’t always cheery and they didn’t always get away with the prize, but it was worth celebrating when they did. And for all the squabbling that went on amongst the group at times, he felt far closer to the Rogues than he ever had with the family he’d been born into.

He leaned over to Digger and smiled affectionately, giving him a gentle kiss on the forehead. “This. This makes it all worth it.”

***

**Day Twenty-Three: “Do we have to?”**

Len had been having a lousy morning, and things didn’t seem to be improving when he arrived at the Rogues’ hangout. All the coffee and beer were strangely missing, and the place was an even bigger dump than usual. There were tools and electronic components scattered around, and far too many tops and slinkies and boomerangs lying about for his liking.

“What the hell’s going on around here?” Len bellowed, kicking an offending yo-yo out of the way. It bounced off a sturdy table and hit him in the shin.

“Dammit all!” he barked, along with some choice profanity which could have made Digger blush. James soon poked his head through the doorway, hair askew and his face smudged with grease.

“What’s the matter?” James asked curiously, and Len almost threw a rubber chicken at his ridiculously innocent-looking expression.

“This place is a damned mess!”

“Yeah, sorry, a bunch of us got together to build stuff. We started…oh, maybe two days ago? I’ve lost track of time, it’s been a blast.”

Len’s upper lip twitched with anger. “So you assholes left a mess and drank all the beer?”

“Well, we’re still working. We’ll clean it up when we’re done.”

“You’ll clean it up right now, or I’ll give you all frostbite!”

“Aw gee, Dad, do we have to?” James retorted in a snide tone that he’d spent years developing into cutting-edge sass. “I’ll do it if it bothers you so much, but thanks for disrupting ~the creative process~.”

Len honestly wasn’t sure how James managed to say that in such an irritating manner, but it wasn’t helping his mood. “Fine. Do it.”

“Hey guys, sounds like the cops are here and we’ve gotta clean up,” James called to his compatriots, and they filed into the room in varying stages of dishevelment. Digger’s hair was far more poofily erratic than usual, Roscoe clearly hadn’t shaved for a few days, and Sam was dressed in just his boxers for some reason.

“We’re outta beer, mate,” Digger said helpfully to Len, which only infuriated him further.

“If this place isn’t cleaned up in five minutes, I swear I’m gonna get Mick to burn it all down. And you know he’ll do it.”

“Geez, okay,” Sam complained with a look of absolute distaste. “You just don’t understand the creative process.”

Roscoe opened his mouth to say something, although Len cut him off before he could speak. “Don’t you _dare_ say anything with the words ‘creative’ or ‘process’.”

“….I was just going to tell you where Lisa hid your good coffee.”

Len’s brow furrowed at this, lost in thought.

“Okay, the mess can stay for now.”

***

**Day Twenty-Five: “Sometimes you can even see”**

It was nighttime in late October, and the Rogues had been playing cards all evening until the power cut out.

“Ah, crap. Mick, you were supposed to change the fuses yesterday.”

“I did! The power company must have cut the juice again.”

There was much grumbling around the table because the explanation was very plausible. The Rogues’ current hideout was in a decaying industrial area, and their occupancy of the building wasn’t exactly legal.

“Well, that’s the end of poker,” Mark announced, taking advantage of the darkness to slip some of the cash from the communal pot into his own pocket. In fact, they were all doing it.

“So what now? Should we call it a night?” Mick asked the others, and there was momentary silence amongst the group before Len cleared his throat.

“It’s dark and it’s almost Halloween, so I got a ghost story for you all.”

Most of the Rogues started chuckling, although there was an annoyed “hmm” from Roscoe and Len took that as encouragement to continue.

“Most people don’t know about this, but I’ve heard whispers of a creepy ghost. Even in life he was horrible to look at, and just one glance from him would frighten little kids. Fortunately he died young and everyone was glad to be rid of him, but he then suffered a terrible curse…he keeps coming back to haunt the living, and just won't leave them alone.”

“Would you stop that?” Roscoe interjected irritably, and Len grinned in the dark.

“I don’t know what you’re talking about, Dillon. Anyway, back to the story. Even now, the ghost walks the Earth and constantly pesters the innocent. Sometimes you can even see him and his horrifying garments: that hideous face of his, and the tacky green and yellow striped suit--”

Suddenly the room lit up with a bright green glow emanating from Roscoe’s eyes, and for a moment the Rogues could have sworn they saw a glimpse of something angry and not quite human in the midst of the eerie gleam. It was a genuinely frightening sight to behold, even for men who’d seen so much.

“Ha. Ha. **_HA_** ,” the figure intoned coldly, and in seconds had spun out of the room at high speed. The other Rogues were left sitting wordlessly in the dark as the cards and illicit cash swirled in the air around them.

“Wow,” Mark said after a lengthy silence. “You think he’d be willing to do that trick at a Halloween party?”

***

**Day Twenty-Six: “How about you trust me for once?”**

“Let me do that,” Len said for perhaps the third time that day, and Mick clenched his teeth in irritation. The job had been going well thus far, but for some reason the boss had been micro-managing everything and it was pushing Mick’s typical gentle patience to the limit.

“I got this,” Mick said as calmly as possible, and began melting the metal of the safe as Len tapped his foot impatiently.

“Tick tock,” Len grumbled, but Mick studiously ignored him even though it rankled. Did Cold really think he didn’t know there were time constraints on a theft? They’d both been doing this gig for years.

The safe had begun melting, and Len tried to push him out of the way to save the haul. “Stop! You’re gonna destroy the loot inside!”

Mick took a deep breath and paused his flames as he turned to his colleague. “I’ve done this a million times before and know what I’m doing. How about you just trust me for once?”

“You’ll screw it up, Mick. You always do.”

“No, I don’t. I’ve made mistakes over the years and so have you, but I wouldn’t be here after all this time if I didn’t get the job done. Remember?”

As they spoke, parts of the safe’s metal continued melting into slag, forming an opening into its interior. Mick reached in with his heat-resistant gloves and pulled out some new gems which hadn’t yet been set into jewellery, and he cradled them in his hand.

“I heat the metal in an arc, and it makes a hole rather than just collapsing the entire thing into goo,” Mick explained with as much good humour as he could muster. “Can’t claim to be infallible, but my track record as a Rogue and a thief speaks for itself. And we’ve got the goods now, so maybe we should get out of here before the rent-a-cops show up.”

Len grunted as Mick passed him half of the jewels, which were still warm but safe to handle with his own thick gloves. They hurried out of the shop and onto the street.

“I guess you did okay today,” Len grudgingly acknowledged as they jogged down the sidewalk. “But you seriously screwed up in the group argument we had last week. You took Mark’s side against mine and completely undermined my authority.”

“ _That’s_ what this is about? You’re mad about the argument? Why didn’t you say so, instead of riding my ass all this time over something completely unrelated?”

Len said nothing for more than ten seconds, then took a deep breath. “Because I was being a dick and I’m too much like my dad,” he grimaced, annoyed to admit it. “He’d punish us and tear us down about unrelated crap when he was pissed about something else, and always tell us we were garbage. You’re right, Mick, and I’m sorry.”

“No problem,” Mick replied, and although they couldn’t see each other’s faces as they ran, Len could hear the smile in his friend’s voice. “I’ll buy you the next round.”

“Least I can do is buy it for you instead.”

“Well…all right,” Mick said, and Len could still hear that smile.

Suddenly Len was certain that he’d just been conned, but he knew he owed it to his friend and had to respect the hustle.

“I’ll get ya a case of the good stuff, Mick.”

***

**Day Twenty-Seven: “Give me that”**

James had been able to work for a full five minutes without interruption, which was not bad by recent standards. But he could see Axel starting to squirm at the edge of his peripheral vision and he sighed internally.

For his part, Axel had been trying to get into James’ good books by letting him work, but he could only remain quiet for so long. He increasingly wriggled on his stool and fidgeted with a slinky until the urge to speak became overwhelming.

“Soooooooooooooooo,” Axel began with an irritating drawn-out word, “will you teach me?”

“The answer’s the same as it was ten minutes ago,” James replied without looking up.

“Yeah but, think of how much I can help you! Think of what you can teach me! Think of all the great things we’ll do together!”

“Mostly I’m thinking of the work I need to do right now.”

“Oh come onnnnnn, let me help!” Axel complained, and he reached over to grab one of the most delicate specialty screwdrivers. 

“Give me that!” James protested worriedly, and in the tussle it was dropped and rolled under the table. “See, this is why I don’t want any kid sidekicks; they’re far more trouble than they’re worth. Why don’t you find some other tech geek villain who’s eager for a gopher? There’s gotta be a few of them floating around.”

Axel sat back on his stool, dejected. “But none of them are the Trickster. You’re my hero, and I want to learn from the best.”

James took a deep breath and turned to face him. “Look, kid, I don’t want to be a grump and I don’t want to be Len…though I repeat myself. It’s just that I don’t have the temperament to be a babysitter or to keep you from blowing yourself up, and I don’t wanna be the guy who has to say _‘don’t do that’_ all the time.”

“You don’t have to be. Just let me do whatever I want,” Axel grinned, though James shook his head.

“No, that’s not gonna fly either. If I teach you, you need to exercise self-restraint and abide by boundaries…such as letting me work when I need to, and none of that crap involving dogs and t-bombs. You understand?”

“But how does that go along with being a trickster? Shouldn’t we be keeping people on their toes and yanking the rug out from under them all the time? Never letting them get too comfortable?”

“Nope, that’s being an asshole. We can keep them on their toes, but once you start hurting people and making them fear for their lives, you’re just acting like a pale imitation of the Joker. And I’ll tell you now: if you want to emulate the Joker, we’ve got absolutely nothing in common and are wasting each other’s time,” James said firmly.

Axel frowned a bit, thinking. “No, I don’t wanna be like the Joker,” he finally answered. “I didn’t really think of it that way.”

“Yeah,” James nodded approvingly. “Think about how those dogs must have felt: it hurt and they would have been terribly afraid. Is that really how you want to make others feel?”

Axel shook his head.

“Good. Now we’re getting somewhere, because c’mon, I’m not the world’s best role model and I don’t have a lot of sage advice. But I _can_ say that I’ve spent a fair bit of time thinking about the philosophy of being a good trickster, because it’s all part of the gig. You need to know what your boundaries are and what they should be, or you’ll be morally all over the map and just terrorizing people.”

“I get it,” Axel said with a nod. “I got a lot to think about and you said you needed to do your work, so imma let you get to it now. Can I sit and watch?”

James smiled at him. “Sure. You can pull the stool closer, if you’d like.”

***

**Day Twenty-Eight: “Do I have to do everything here?”**

It was supposed to be a relaxing evening: the Rogues had planned a casual hang-out at their HQ, in which they’d laze around, socialize, and order delicious greasy food. But Sam was being run off his feet.

“Hmmm, not sure there’s enough beer in the fridge,” he murmured aloud as he went through his extensive party checklist. “Hey Cold, could you get some more beer from the basement?”

“In a minute,” Len answered distractedly, engrossed as he was in the Combines game. There were two televisions showing different hockey matches, one showing football, and another two were being used for video games.

Sam continued working through his checklist to make sure things were running smoothly, and ten minutes passed without Len going to retrieve the beer. Eventually Sam fetched it himself, knowing it was probably a losing battle to nag another Rogue into doing the task. The others were so busy with their sports and gaming.

His stomach began growling as he worked, and he realized he hadn’t ordered the pizza yet (of course nobody else had, either). He picked up the phone and made a quick announcement to the others, if only to stave off the inevitable complaining about the lack of food.

“So I’m just gonna make a call for ten pepperoni pizzas,” Sam informed the group, though Roscoe looked up from a card game to politely raise his hand.

“I would like one with a whole wheat crust, please. And with sweet peppers, pineapple, and olives…maybe some ham, but no mushrooms.”

“Uh, okay,” Sam replied with some surprise, a little taken aback by the unexpected complication to his plans.

“If he’s getting a special pizza then I want extra cheese!” James insisted loudly.

“Less pepperoni on mine, that stuff’s not exactly healthy,” Hartley said.

Sam looked a bit frazzled by the onslaught. “Crap, I’m going to have to write this all down.” He went in search of pen and paper and returned momentarily with a tired expression. “Okay, Roscoe wants olives and hot peppers and mushrooms.”

“I said no mushrooms! They’re disgusting and have a horrible texture. But I asked for sweet peppers and pineapple, not hot peppers.”

“Trust Dillon to put pineapple on his pizza,” Len chuckled from the back of the room.

“All of you shut up! You’re getting me confused,” Sam snapped as he frantically scribbled the various orders on a notepad. “Okay, I think I got it: Roscoe’s weirdo toppings and James’ extra cheese. I can do this.”

“Don’t forget one with a minimum of pepperoni!” Hartley called out, though the infuriated look Sam cast in his direction immediately made him go quiet. Sam stalked off to the kitchen, where he phoned the pizza place and testily told them that he wouldn’t mind if an employee dropped the specialty pizzas on the floor “by accident”.

He went to the basement to enjoy some coffee and a cigarette in solitude, as the noise from the resident idiots was driving him around the bend. But he found Alvin skulking around in the dark down there and petting rats, so he went back upstairs without a word to avoid being dragged into some type of science experiment.

The doorbell rang half an hour later and nobody showed much interest in getting up, so Sam wearily answered it and paid for the pizza from the Rogues’ communal funds.

“Food’s here!” he shouted, which finally got the group’s attention and led to a veritable stampede of hungry supervillains shoving each other out of the way. The first pizza box was opened and Roscoe announced it was his, as it was bedecked with pineapple-peppers-olives-ham.

Digger grabbed the box beneath it and ran off, intending to eat an entire large pizza by himself. “Wait a mo`,” he exclaimed as he opened the carton, “this is more of that pineapple rubbish!”

Len opened the next box, and the next, and the one below those. “They all are!”

“Pretty sure the pineapple renders it legally inedible,” Mark said in a snide tone.

“Oh, for crying out loud…” Sam complained, thudding his head against the wall and letting it rest there. “That’s it, I’ve had it and can’t take any more of this. I’m gonna take a long walk or something.”

“Why would you leave?” James asked curiously, happily chewing on a slice even though it didn’t have his extra cheese.

“I’ve done everything around here and none of you care, and now even the food order’s wrong!” Sam snapped back, his shoulders sagging with defeat. “I just want some air.”

“We’d rather you didn’t go,” Hartley frowned with concern. “Yeah, the pineapple’s weird, but we can pick it off. It’s not a big deal.”

“Sit down and I’ll get you a beer,” Len said firmly, and Roscoe scooted over on the couch to make room. Sam still made motions to go out the door, but he allowed himself to be gently steered towards the couch. Len delivered one of the good beers to him, and James brought a pizza box to be placed on Sam’s lap.

“I’ll let you pick off the stuff you don’t want, since my fingers are already oily,” James chuckled, licking his for good measure.

Sam smiled at the others for the first time all day. “Thanks guys, I appreciate it. Sorry, it’s just been a stressful evening.”

“And I’m sorry we made you do all the work; we shouldn’t have done that and have to be better. We really do appreciate the things you do for the team,” Hartley said, and the others nodded in agreement.

“Don’t worry about it, we can talk about that later. It’s time to eat,” Sam grinned cheerfully, utterly ravenous by this point. He wrinkled his nose at the odd combination of toppings on the pizza, but was hungry enough to take a bite as is. 

“Hey, this is surprisingly good!”


End file.
